Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Soul
by O'MalleytheAlleyCat
Summary: Weechesters! Boys are 13 and 17. The Winchester family is on a hunt in Hickory, Virginia and Sam and John are at odds as always. Everything goes wrong though when John guesses the monster of the week wrong. Their memory is taken and Sam is left trying to get his family to remember who he is before the monster gets him.
1. Chapter 1

**Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Soul**

Chapter 1

* * *

This story is all thanks to Mango Marbles! She is an amazing writer and threw this idea out for me to chew on. She's kindly been willing to act as a beta for me. This story has been a long time in the works for me and officially marks me coming back to the community of fanfiction. Again, another shout out to _Mango Marbles,_ this all thanks to her!

* * *

Dean was sitting with one hand loosely grasping the steering wheel while the other was levied up by the elbow on the open window, his whole body lax with lazy abandon. Several hundred meters in front of the Impala was the black truck his father drove. Sam was stretched out in the passenger seat, limbs scattered comfortably since he had yet to hit his growth spurt at just barely thirteen. The weather was hot and humid, precipitation threatening to come with the tropical storms that hit coastal Virginia during the summer time. In turn, the windows were cranked down uselessly as the air outside was nearly as hot as the air inside the car.

The air conditioner had died last week, an event which spoke volumes to how much Sam was pouting by choosing a sauna next to his brother rather than an air conditioned seat next to his father.

Sam rolled his sweat covered head to look plaintively at his brother.

"Why are we going to Virginia?"

Dean rolled his shoulders, attempting to take the kinks out.

"We're already in Virginia, dumbass."

Sam glared at him. "That's not what I meant Dean."

Sam had been complaining non stop about their uprooting from the town in Missouri. Dean didn't understand, it was summer vacation so it wasn't like Sam could claim that he was missing school or getting behind.

"Well, all you're going to do is complain, and I don't care to listen. So shut up, bitch."

Sam gave out a small humph. "Doesn't change the fact that the place we're going, Hickory-" he over pronounced 'Hickory', taking in a dramatic breath to continue. But Dean beat him to it

"Dickory dock. I don't care, Sam."

Sam crossed his arms, face turning down in what Dean had coined as the bitch-face.

"Still doesn't mean that it isn't shit-"

"Language, Sammy."

Sam flipped his head dramatically, purposefully pressing himself as close to the passenger door as possible to show that he was displeased with Dean. Dean just had to muffle a laugh as his brother looked like a shampoo commercial. Dean didn't honestly care if Sam swore, it was more of to nag his brother back. A few moments of silence passed before Sam started in again.

"They have a place near it called The Great Dismal Swamp, Dean. You can't say anything about that."

Dean tried to hold in a laugh at the name-he was sweaty and annoyed, he wanted his brother to know just how annoyed- but he still let out a snort of laughter. He saw the corner of Sam's lips turn up just a little, but then it disappeared.

"I just don't get why we're going."

Dean sighed and resisted the urge to strangle his brother. Sam knew about the supernatural. He understood the basics of hunting and had even helped in a small time ghost hunt, so what Dean didn't understand was why his brother asked these questions when he already knew the answers.

"We're close enough to the coast that we might actually get to go swimming, Sammy."

Sam saw the shut down for what it was, but didn't argue further.

"Yeah, that'd be nice."

Dean wasn't like his dad, he may not understand Sam's opinion on the moving, but he also didn't like seeing Sam sad or brooding.

"'Course you'd scare all the girls away with that ugly mug."

Sam's face immediately scrunched up and he was throwing a retort back, the broodiness gone in an instant. Dean smiled inwardly as he continued teasing his brother, the Virginia heat forgotten for the moment.

* * *

They got to Hickory several hours later and pulled up into the local motel, All's-Well Motel. Parking, Dean hopped out into the heat and Sam came out right after. Their father gave them a quick nod and headed over to the office while his two boys began grabbing bags from the back of the Impala. The car their dad was driving was a relatively new addition, an added cost he considered necessary. Dean loved the independence of driving without his dad in the car, and the entire family appreciated it as Sam had recently begun questioning their father on everything, his curiosity angry rather than innocent.

They checked in and, without wasting a moment, stepped into the air conditioned motel room. Cheap as it was, it wasn't much better than being outside. John was prompt, despite the fact that they'd been driving since three that morning and it was now getting to be around six at night.

"Dean, I want you to take Sam to the local library. Get him in enrolled in the cheapest and biggest community program that's going right now. Sam, you'll need to tell me about anything the kids say which could relate to our hunt-"

Sam broke in. "What's the hunt even about?"

"Give me a second, Sam, and I'll get to it."

Dean tensed at what could be the beginning of an argument. Sam just nodded, though, and his father gave a curt nod in return.

"If you can't find one, I won't be surprised. This place isn't real big. Right now, all I know is that three people have gone missing. All were eviscerated and none of the viscera have been found. For now, we're assuming it was eaten. I got this call from another hunter, so we're going to check it out. I'm trusting you two."

John looked at Sam seriously. He'd been slowly trying to open Sam up to the hunt. Right now, he was just involving Sam in research.

"I'm sure we'll take this thing down."

Dean grinned. "No problem, sir."

John looked at Sam expectantly. Sam's lips pursed and he looked back a moment before responding.

"Yes, sir."

John smiled and then pressed a fifty into Dean's hand.

"Get yourself and Sam something to eat, and try to catch something local so you can get an ear out."

Dean nodded. There was an art to working a town for a hunt, and this kind of small town that was passed through by an interstate had a way to be worked.

John was out the door then, his car pulling away and the sound of the engine fading. Sam looked up at Dean.

"I'm not joining the local soccer group."

Dean nearly groaned, that was Sammy speak for 'I'm not doing anything Dad said'.

"I doubt they have one, so don't worry about it."

They headed out to the Impala while Dean eyed the fifty. The two needed food and it would be necessary to eat at a local place to pick up at least something about the town. Dean then looked at the A/C switch. Not near enough to fix it. He was going to have to try to get a job at a nearby garage if he could. Sam was brooding in his seat, mind oblivious to the troubles swirling in Dean's head.

"What monsters eviscerate people?"

Dean looked up at the question as he placed the keys in the ignition.

"Werewolves sometimes, if they aren't careful and take a lot more than the heart with them. Rugaroos will eat any part of a person, guess one could get picky. A ghost with a particular way of killing. We'll have to research a little more before anything's clear."

Sam nodded, but his mind was elsewhere.

"Greek priestesses eviscerate people. They would use the innards to help them determine the future and other stuff."

Dean was listening, a type of witch was also another important possibility.

"I read Julius Caesar at my school just last month. They have a Greek priestess who-"

Dean nearly let out a chuckle, he should've known better. Sam always leaned towards books and other stuff rather than focusing on a hunt. He zoned out as Sam went on about whatever it was, relaxing as they made their way to a local diner.

* * *

They got back to the motel around eight to find their father already there. John was seated on his bed, papers spread all over the cover and still wearing a cheap suit. He barely paid them any attention, head coming up for a moment to hear Dean's report.

"We didn't get much. One of the victims was from out of town and the other two were some couple living illicitly together. Nobody cared to talk much about them, just said stuff about how scary it all was. We did learn that there is a prison close by and they had a recent break out. People say it might be the prisoner doing the killing."

John nodded and looked back down at the papers. Dean peered over and saw a medical report and some nasty images. He quickly looked away.

"Good work, I want you to go over these reports when I'm done. Drive Sam out to practice shooting for now. He didn't hit enough of the targets last time. When I bring him on a hunt, I don't want him messing up and getting someone hurt."

Dean looked over at Sam who was now hunched up on the bed, face turned stubbornly toward the window.

"Yes, sir," Dean replied.

* * *

They headed back out to the Impala and Dean glanced at the gas gauge. The fifty was going to be stretched. He had no idea when his dad would give him another one.

"Do I mess up a lot, Dean?"

Sam's face was a poor mask of indifference covering up anger, which was covering up hurt and rejection and that unholy sensation of never being good enough.

"Pain in the ass like you?" Dean smiled jestingly "Never."

Sam turned away and got into the Impala. Dean could stretch money. He could fight. He could load a gun and kill man without hesitation, if needed. What he couldn't do was be a brother, mother, and father. He managed only two of those roles, and tried awkwardly filling the other, while the person supposed to be filling it didn't even know what it was. Dean felt a nasty sensation of inadequacy roll in him. He could really do with getting laid right about now.

Dean chose some lone field about a mile from the motel. It had a plain house in the middle and trees lining the fields, acting as wind buffers for the now overgrown fields. The house was abandoned, nearly all the windows broken and graffiti lining parts of the house. Sam was more interested in the house than the empty dirt plot behind the house where Dean had lined up some bottles.

"Who do you think lived in this house?"

Dean raised a brow, annoyed again and hot. He had the Smith and Wesson model 4560, a gun his dad had picked up from a fellow hunter who doubled as a police officer.

"Sam," Dean held out the gun and Sam looked at him petulantly before taking the gun with reluctance.

"Don't forget to adjust for the recoil, Sam. It's why you have a hard time hitting the target."

Sam brought the gun up and Dean swooped in to position his brother's arms.

"Some day, you'll get used to the gun enough that you can just shoot on instinct. For now, use the guides."

Dean illustrated his point by taking the gun from Sam and quickly firing off three shots, all of which hit the intended cans. Dean smiled at Sam who was absentmindedly looking back at the house.

"Easy as pie."

Sam turned to look back at Dean.

"Do those look like Greek letters to you?"

Dean looked at the house and then back at Sam.

"Just concentrate, alright?"

Sam didn't look happy about it, but he took the gun from his brother and aimed at the cans. The first two shots missed. Sam let out a huff of frustration.

"Sam, you're not-"

"I can do this, Dean."

Dean watched as Sam took a deep breath and aimed once more. He hit the remaining five cans.

"See. Now, set them back up and go again. I'm going to grab something to drink from the car."

Sam nodded and handed the gun back to Dean with the safety on. His eyes were locked onto the house again, and he was studying the lettering that had been graffiti-ed onto the side paneling. It looked familiar, and made Sam curious. As far as he was concerned, no one out here was Greek and the symbols looked different than the standard Greek he saw in some of the books at Bobby's. His dad often said if something looked out of place, it often wasn't meant to be there. Mind wandering, he thought of the case, and then his teachers no nonsense voice explaining how human entrails were often used in many early Greek rituals-and previously Etruscan rituals.

Dean had come back by now with two water bottles in hand and a beer. Sam's face squished up at the sight of the beer.

"Dad said you couldn't."

"It's empty. If you couldn't tell, not all the bottles and cans we lined up were made from metal, we had a few glass ones."

Handing a water bottle to Sam, he frowned.

"You didn't set up the cans."

Sam looked surprised to hear that and realized he had been staring at the house. Sam jogged over and began lining them up, mind still considering the Greek letters.

The rest of the shooting session passed well. Dean knew how to deal with Sam, unlike their father. Sam always shot better when Dean was with him. Eventually they stopped, when the lighting got too bad around nine, and they began to head out. Sam took out a notebook, though, and carefully copied the lettering on the house wall. Dean shook his head, but didn't say anything. Sam had done good tonight, which meant their dad would be happy. Sam may have talked about a normal family the most, but Dean was the one who made their family as normal as possible.

When they got back, their dad was gone again, the papers neatly arranged in a stack with a small note written on paper torn from a motel bible on top. Dean quickly glanced at it. 'Out. Back by morning. Look over the reports. Tomorrow research in the library, Sam needs to learn.'

Dean sighed. Sam already knew how to research, kid was better at it than he was at times.

"What'd Dad say?"

Sam was peeking over his shoulder. Before Dean could answer, another question was spilling out.

"What's that?" Sam pointed at the stack of papers and then grabbed it.

"Hey!" Dean immediately snatched the papers back, no way was Sammy looking at these crime scene photos.

Sam glared up at him and Dean hardened his face. Kid still hadn't learned that his puppy dog face worked better than his bitch face.

"I read Dad's note. How am I supposed to research if I don't have all the facts of the case?"

Dean shook his head. "I said no. Deal with it, alright?"

Sam glared more fiercely before stomping over to one of the beds. He flopped down on it with an exaggerated movement and turned away from Dean. With another sigh, Dean sat down on his dad's bed and opened the report. The pictures were gruesome and the reports were clinical and practically draconian with how they described the death. It was dull, boring, and emotionally exhausting. These had all been people, and that freaked Dean out.

After an hour, he set the reports down and looked toward the bed. Sam was fast asleep on top of the covers. Dean smiled affectionately and got up. For a fleeting moment, he contemplated waking him up with a wet willy, but he dismissed it when he remembered their dad's note. Tomorrow would be long and Sam needed his sleep. Dean gently unlaced his brother's worn out converse and set them on the floor. Kicking out of his own boots he took off his jacket and settled on the bed next to his brother. Minutes later, he drifted off.

* * *

He woke up around seven thirty when his dad came into the room. Sam was out like a light next to him, despite the light filtering through the curtained windows. Dean smiled as he noticed that Sam had curled up next to him, looking like a toddler again. He gently slipped away from Sam, not waking him, and padded up to where his father was seated on his own bed.

"Looked at the reports?"

Dean nodded.

"Get your brother up, then, and head to the library. It opens at eight. I think I know what did it and where it is, but I want Sam to practice and for you to see if you can figure it out."

Dean eyed his father curiously.

"We'll go out tonight to get it, just you and me for now."

"Yes, sir."

John looked at Dean wearily, a small, but affectionate, smile on his face. "We can stick around a little longer. Let you get a job and we can fix that broken A/C."

Dean grinned back, it was a promise from his dad that he would spend some time with them, real time. His dad continued, "I'll take some time looking for a hunt. I wanted to take you and Sammy to some of the summer festivals in Georgia. I spent time there before I got shipped out."

Dean's nodded before heading over to Sam, John pulled off his boots and headed into the shower. Dean snuck up on Sam, his good mood influencing him, and he yanked the blanket so Sam fell off the bed. There was shout and then a head covered in mussy auburn hair popped up with an angry glare on it.

"Deaaaan!"

Dean laughed "Get ready, we're heading to the library."

Sam sent him another glare before grumbling loudly while getting ready. They were about to step out the door when Sam looked over at the bathroom door. He looked up at Dean, a strangely quivering and vulnerable look on his face.

"Dad got back?"

"Yeah," Dean avoided his brother's gaze.

Sam didn't reply.

* * *

They got to the library and Sam immediately ran about getting piles of books. Dean noted the titles, ones that ranged from "North American Myths, Monsters, and Legends" to "Ancient Greece: Religion". Dean sat down and waited for his brother to finish. When Sam had collected enough books, he sat down and looked at Dean with bright eyes.

"So, I was thinking, this isn't just some run of the mill monster. The wounds on the bodies indicate that someone cut open the body. It wasn't a clawed creature and the hearts weren't touched. There wasn't any ectoplasm, and Dad left a note mentioning the fact that he hadn't picked up any fur from the bodies."

"That's great Sam-wait, where did you read that?" Dean had a sinking feeling that he already knew.

Sam blushed, looking shame faced at the floor.

"I-uh, I may have read the report."

Dean glared. No wonder Sam had been sleeping like a baby, the kid probably had spent hours reading over those reports.

"I'm chewing your ass out once we get out of here."

Sam nodded, already shrugging his brother off. He knew Dean wouldn't stay mad. The next hours both boys spent emerging themselves in research. Dean collected his own books and agreed with Sam's previous comments. He had brought the report, and everything that Sam had said made sense. Researching further, Dean found that others had died the same way. It seemed every thirty years about five people were eviscerated, followed by the mysterious disappearance and reappearance of a person. This had been going on for nearly 180 years. It started right after the disappearance and apparent death of a woman named Sara Blockney in 1816. Records were fuzzy, but this sounded like a type of ghost Dean had heard of before, one Bobby had talked to him about. It was a spirit called a Pontianak, supposedly known as a woman who had died in child birth and who, in death, eviscerated people to eat their innards. Dean felt a surge of pride as further research supported his idea, Sara Blockney had been thirty when she'd died.

Dean shut his book, excited to get back to his dad. This was a more obscure ghost, something that his dad would be proud he had figured out so quickly. Glancing at Sam, he saw his brother engrossed in whatever he was looking at on a computer. Walking over he saw that it was some college paper posted online about anthropomancy. Nearly six hours had passed, and his stomach was grumbling with hunger and excitement at his success.

"Hey, Sammy, we gotta go."

Sam turned to him, eyes bright. "I think I figured it out, Dean!"

Dean nodded, too happy to care that Sam was completely wrong.

"We'll get something to eat and then hang out some until we get back to the motel room tonight. Dad'll be real proud."

Sam nodded and followed him out of the library, where he began blithering away about human sacrifice and Greeks and history and Dean stopped listening. They went out and got food, both deliriously happy and excited.

Getting home, John was waiting for them, already dressed and getting ready to hunt. He looked up at the two expectantly.

"It's a Pontianak." Dean said, watching for his dad's response.

John smiled "Good work, Dean."

But Sam frowned. "No it isn't, it can't be. It's definitely a Greek Magoi."

John looked at Sam. "It's a Pontianak, Sam. Don't argue, you just need more practice researching."

Sam's frown deepened and anger entered his features.

"No. It's not, it's a magoi. The victims and their cuts, it all points to a Greek magoi."

John wasn't listening and Dean was grabbing his gun.

"Dad, I'm serious, it's a magoi!"

John ignored him, moving to the motel door. He opened it and gestured for Dean to go get in the car and was about to follow. Sam watched desperately before exploding.

"LISTEN TO ME!"

John turned. Sam's breathing was heavy and he was filled with rage. His dad never listened to him, he never cared. Sam wasn't ever good enough. There was beat of silence, then John glowered at his son.

"Stay here, Sam. When I get back I'll deal with you."

The door shut and Sam felt like screaming. He stomped around the room, feeling as if he would explode. Hot angry tears were winding down his face, burning trails on his cheeks. His dad never listened, never. He was never good enough. He was always being told to practice more, shoot more, research more, but he couldn't be trusted on a hunt. Dean had gone on his first hunt when he was fourteen. Sam, inching toward that number, dreaded the idea that his father would never trust him enough. He spent nearly two hours trying to calm down, the light fading from the curtains and the night arriving in its place.

Suddenly, he was struck with an idea. He would prove them wrong. He would find the magoi and kill it. Then, his dad would trust him. Heading over to the Smith and Wesson his dad had left for protection, Sam tucked it into a bag and headed to the motel door. He was determined to prove them wrong, and he knew exactly where the magoi would be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Soul**

O'MalleytheAlleyCat

Chapter 2

* * *

It was late, just past ten o'clock, as Sam trudged down the road. He knew the field where he and Dean had been at before was only a mile or so away, but in the dark the distance seemed more intimidating and the way less clear. Sam's furious anger kept him moving forward, despite the near tangible darkness that the lightless fields around him created. The most the dark did was to keep Sam's anger in check and keep him aware and collected. He would prove them wrong and most importantly he would prove that he was good enough to meet and surpass his dad's standards.

The walk was longer than he originally thought and soon over an hour had dragged by.

Sam finally reached the beginning of the driveway to the fields and house when he saw a small light flickering in a downstairs window of the supposedly empty house. Any doubt in his theory that the person eviscerating people was a Greek magoi disappeared. As quietly as he could, Sam made his way down the driveway, stepping on the grass cushioned sides instead of on the gravel so he would be more quiet. Getting closer, Sam withdrew the gun from his bag, eyes glancing at the area where glass now decorated the ground from his shooting practice. Sam was ready for this, Sam was prepared to face a monster on his hunt.

Sam felt his hands begin to tremble with adrenaline and fear as he stepped up the porch, eyes wide and pupils dilated. He put a hand on the door and tried to soundlessly open it, but he was never that lucky. There was a loud creak as the door swung open, followed by a dull thud as it thumped into the wall. Sam winced and he tensed up, anticipating something to come jumping out at him. After minutes passed and everything remained silent, he frowned and stepped further into the house.

The light was coming from several candles set up at the four far corners of a large rectangle table. In the center of the table was a diagram and then some sticky and rancid pinkish globs, which Sam recognized as parts of the human abdominal cavity. No one appeared to be here at the moment and Sam lowered the gun slightly as he felt triumph well up in him. The markings in the diagram were definitely Greek. Sam had been right and he absolutely preened under that fact.

Stepping closer, his nose crinkled at an awful smell wafting from a bucket. Sam looked in and fought back a gag when he saw discarded remains that were festering in the bucket. He raised an arm to block the smell and cast his eyes around the room. It was empty and the candles were burned low on their wicks, it was possible that the magoi wasn't here. Sam stepped from the room that used to be the living room of the archaic two story house and stepped into the kitchen.

There was blood splattered on the sink and a few drops were trailed on the floor, but overall there was very little mess considering the carnage which lay in the sink and in a large plastic bag to the side of it on the counter. Sam's face paled and he held his hand over his mouth as he pushed down the urge to puke.

"Hello, little one."

Sam spun around, gun raised and quivering just a little as it was pointed at a tall olive skinned man standing in the doorway behind Sam. He had long hair tied back in a loose ponytail and an impressive beard which hung down in a thick dark brown braid. The man took a small step forward and Sam mirrored it with his own step back. The man reached a hand behind his back and Sam raised the gun further.

"Don't-don't do that!" Sam's voice shook even as he tried to sound intimidating.

The man smiled in amusement and brought from out behind his back a long curved knife. Sam's face filled with fear.

* * *

Dean had been enthusiastic about taking down this bitch of a ghost. According to his dad, the woman was buried in a local historical graveyard that dated back to 1799. They had arrived at the graveyard and had found her grave quickly. Dean and John took turns digging, surprised that throughout the process there were no disturbances. Dean wasn't exactly the most experienced hunter in the world, but even he was aware that ghosts tended to come out when their remains were disturbed. He had received more than enough bruises, cuts, and concussions to know that.

Their work continued and Dean was shifting through the dirt, the coffin having long ago decomposed and the body having been buried before burial vaults or cremation were generally required in funeral matters. Once the bones were revealed well enough that Dean could set fire to them, he looked anxiously up at his father. John's face was set stoically, yet there was a slight frown marring his features which indicated that he was also concerned at the ghost's lack of interference.

Dean pulled himself from the grave and they lit fire to the body once it was coated with a healthy layer of salt and gasoline. After letting it burn for five minutes, John turned toward the car.

"Dad?"

Dean kept glancing back at the grave. The ghost should have presented itself at some point, right? It wouldn't just kill others and then go down without a fight, would it? John didn't respond verbally, but he turned to his son and made a motion toward the car. Dean took the hint and got in. He looked at his dad and could see the subtle amount of anxiety on his father's face.

John said nothing and Dean was too nervous to speak aloud. They arrived back at the motel and Dean climbed out of the car, carrying the usual bag he was appointed. He pushed the motel door open, thinking about Sammy and keeping his father and his brother away from each other. Both were in a mood now and it was bound to be explosive. He frowned though when he didn't see Sam anywhere. Walking up to the bathroom door he rapped on it, just to pull his hand away as it pushed open under the force. The lights were off and Sam wasn't in the room.

Turning to run out back to the car, Dean saw his father arranging some items in the back of his truck.

"Dad!"

John looked up, worry on his face. His attention was fully on his son.

"Dad, Sammy's gone."

John straightened and shut the trunk of the truck.

"I think I know where he is," Dean said.

* * *

Sam's hand was shaking so badly, the gun was barely pointing straight.

"I'm not going to hurt you, little one, but I would like to know why you are standing in my kitchen."

The knife hadn't been raised threateningly yet, but Sam kept the gun up.

"You're a magoi," Sam managed to get out.

The man's amused smile fell away and he regarded Sam sharply. He took another step closer and Sam backed away again, his back ramming into the kitchen counter.

"Don't move!" Sam waved the gun in threat.

The man stopped moving forward, but he remained calm and seemingly unaffected by the gun in Sam's hand.

"You know what I am child?"

Sam nodded his head, glaring fiercely. "You use human entrails to receive information about stuff. It's bad magic."

The man nodded.

"Yes, child, I do."

"I'm not a child!" Sam yelled as the man took another step forward.

He was close enough to reach Sam. Sam pulled the trigger three times, aim unnecessary when the magoi was so close. The bullets struck the magoi, but he appeared unaffected and he grabbed Sam's arm and twisted it behind his back, the gun clattering to the ground. Sam tried to struggle, but the magoi wrapped his arm around him and twisted his arm further causing Sam to cry out in pain.

"You know more than most, but you do not know the power of the soul."

He wrenched Sam from the kitchen, carrying him in a painful hold to the front room where the table with the entrails was. He proceeded to tie Sam up, trussing him in such a way that Sam could barely move no matter how much he struggled against his restraints.

"I will use you, child. You are a gift from the Gods sent to complete my transmigration and keep sustained both my life and my soul."

Sam stared in wide eyed fear as the man began cleaning the table of the entrails and blood, talking conversationally to Sam as if he wasn't about to gut Sam alive.

"The soul, you see, child, is very powerful. It is capable of surviving nearly anything and is the only power which can provoke the greatest of beings. It contains the essence of a person, their conscience, and, most importantly, the memories which make a person. The mind, or brain, may contain the memory but it does not contain the emotion and ability to comprehend the memory like the soul can."

The table was now cleared and the man was washing it down with a strange soap that smelled like nothing he was familiar with. A weird blend of spices and floral tones.

"The soul," the man said with a knowing glance at Sam, "is unbelievably powerful. You can't even begin to imagine the possibilities it offers. I must bore you with my ranting, though, child. These arts I practice aren't as appreciated as they once were."

Sam still struggled against the well tied rope, terror ripping through him. He wished Dean was there. His big brother could fix this with a cocky grin of triumph and a reminder that no one is allowed to mess with his family. His dad, too. No matter how rocky or strained their relationship became, he knew that his dad would always watch out for him. Tears were winding their way down his face and his wrists were beginning to chafe and bleed from his thrashing.

"Calm, child. You hurt only yourself with your struggles. It will be painful, but I must have you awake and alive for the process or else the sight I receive will not be as clear."

The man had finished cleaning the table and went over to Sam, gently lifting him up in a mocking cradle of safety.

"Your sacrifice will be greatly appreciated."

He laid Sam on the table and began tying him spread eagle, wrists and ankles bound by rope to small thick metal loops, ones from a local hardware store, that had been screwed into the table. Sam immediately began struggling again, but the magoi placed a hand on Sam's chest, setting a small bag next to Sam and saying a few quick words. Sam's body froze and he went limp, unable to move anything but his head.

"What did you do?" He asked, voice barely a ragged whisper. He was all out crying, vision impeded.

"I can't have you struggling little one."

"Please, please don't do this."

Sam was begging, the fear of what was about to happen all encompassing. He wanted Dean so bad. He wanted his big brother to be here and for his dad to kill the monster and make everything better. He took back needing to prove anything. He had been right, but he'd been wrong, too. So very wrong.

"Please," Sam was sobbing.

"Shh. Shh." The man smiled down at him, gently stroking his cheek. Sam leaned away from the unwanted comfort.

Sam watched in horror as the man lifted the curved knife and began to cut away his shirt. Sam tried to hold back his tears, he wanted to be brave. Dean said that Winchesters were always brave. He wanted to be brave.

"It will not last long child."

Sam clenched his eyes shut as the knife descended. The crunch of gravel from outside and the flashing of headlights stopped the descent of the knife, centimeters away from breaking his skin. The magoi looked up and Sam opened his eyes, daring to hope. The magoi was deathly still, the knife in his hand and his eyes looking cat-like out the window. There was the crunching of gravel and Sam heard his brother's voice. He couldn't help his muffled sob of relief. The magoi noticed and his gaze sharpened.

He stepped away from Sam, the knife raised again. Sam let out a loud scream, knowing he needed to warn his family. The magoi quickly moved toward Sam, back handing him hard with inhuman strength. Sam's head snapped to the side and he accidentally bit into his cheek, sending a flood of thick tangy blood into his mouth. The damage was already done though and the magoi seemed to know it. Dashing toward a bag in the corner of the room he began searching through it.

Sam could hear the sound of the front door being busted off its hinges and the cry of his brother saying his name. Sam had let his eyes slide shut, sure that his family would save him. He didn't anticipate the cool feel of a blade on his throat.

"He is precious to you, no?"

Sam blinked languidly, the knock to his head by the magoi leaving his head hurting and heavy and his mind left feeling fuzzy. He saw his father standing tensely with a gun raised and pointed at the magoi. Dean was just a step behind, gun also raised.

"Sammy!" Dean began to surge forward but halted as the knife dug into Sam's skin and he let out a small whimper.

His head hurt and his wrists hurt and he couldn't think straight. His family was so close.

"Dean," he called out weakly. The knife pressed down again and more blood came out.

Dean looked like he was in physical pain having to restrain himself from going to Sam's side. John also looked quite tense, real fear showing through for one of the only times Sam could recall.

"I will slit his throat if you move again."

No one moved except Sam who looked pleadingly at his father.

"Daddy."

John's face twitched in agony. Sam only used that word when he was very ill or hurt. It had stopped being used regularly when Sam had turned nine. The magoi was watching the three carefully, eyes narrowed and calculating.

"Let him go, please. I'll stay with you, just let him go."

"Dad!" Dean said in response to his fathers request.

The magoi considered the statement.

"That won't be necessary. For now, Sam will learn exactly how important the soul is. But he was chosen and given to me, I will oblige the Gods and use their gift as a sacrifice."

Both John and Dean's eyes widened in fear at the statement, Dean starting forward. The magoi meanwhile had been preparing something during the tense standoff between him and the Winchesters. He suddenly threw out his other hand, one which had been clandestinely hidden under the table. In it was something that flashed bright, blinding Dean and John. He shouted some words and a thrum of magic went through the room, hitting Dean and John and sending them to the floor. The magoi dashed away after that, running out of the house.

Sam watched through thickly lidded eyes at the retreating back of the magoi and then turned his head to look at his brother and father. Whatever had knocked them down seemed to be impermanent and they were already rising. He felt the pull of unconsciousness, but he fought to keep his eyes open. Sam needed to know that his family was alright. Dean was standing, a strangely confused look on his face and John was now approaching Sam. The words he was speaking were muddled and distant and Sam found himself unable to stay awake any longer. A moment later his eyes slid shut and with it everything.

Sam awoke on a hotel bed, warm and comfortable, but strangely positioned in the middle and missing the familiar dent of where his brother had slept. He shifted, trying to prop himself upright but a sudden pain lanced through his head and he flopped back down, eyes shut tight.

"He's awake." It was Dean speaking but the usual relief and joy he would've expressed wasn't there. It was merely a general statement, as if his little brother hadn't almost been killed.

"Dean?" Sam said, voice slightly hoarse.

Sam's eyes blinked open again saw his dad standing over him, face emotionless. This was a usual sight, if a little hurtful, however Dean was also reticent. Dean never covered up his fear, care, love, anything he felt for Sam; Sam was his little brother. It was strange and for some reason nearly brought tears to Sam's eyes again.

"Dad?"

Dean frowned in confusion, casting John a questioning glance while John stayed quiet.

"I'm John Winchester, this is my son Dean."

Sam stared in absolute confusion at his dad's statement. Of course he knew that, he was Sam Winchester.

"Dad, what's going on?"

Dean was now staring warily at Sam, as though he could be a threat. Dean had never looked at Sam like that before. Sam felt tears coming again, pooling up in his eyes and he looked at Dean imploringly.

"Dean?"

"Dad, how does he know us?"

John shook his head at Dean's quietly asked question. Sam, meanwhile, was becoming extremely frustrated and upset.

"That's not funny Dean! You know me!"

Dean looked slightly worried and John's brow furrowed at Sam's outburst.

"I'm Sam! I'm your little brother!" Sam was screaming now, raised on the bed and tears pouring down his face.

"Kid, you need to calm down." Dean was talking but it just upset Sam more.

Dean put out a hand, but Sam scrambled away from it, tumbling from the bed to the floor. His head protested the movement and his stomach responded by squeezing and Sam was then vomiting onto the floor. He was trembling and crying and he had no idea what was going on. Sam closed his eyes and curled up, head pounding.

"Dean, help the kid up and back onto the bed. We need to find his parents once we've talked to him about the witch."

"I thought there weren't any missing persons reports filed. This kid isn't from here."

John let out a soft hum in response and Sam heard the soft sound of steps as John walked across to the desk in the room. A hand was gently laid on his head and Sam leaned into it, knowing it was Dean.

"Hey, kid, you need to get up and back in the bed, alright?"

Sam was exhausted, but he was reminded of the situation he was in. Dean usually would've just lifted Sam, carefully cradling him before setting him on the bed. Whatever the magoi had done, it had changed his family. Sam rolled and pushed up weakly, Dean grabbed his arm and carefully, but distantly, helped him back to the bed. Sam was terrified, however he was more tired than scared. Within moments, he was once again unconscious.

* * *

His second time waking was much less disorienting, and as Sam became aware, he noticed the sound of soft voices by the other bed. His father and brother were conversing.

"Why would he say that dad? I heard him, he said he was my little brother." Dean sounded genuinely upset.

John let out a soft sigh. "I don't know Dean, right now we need to figure out what or who that was and what they were doing. This isn't a pontianak like I originally thought."

"Do you think it's true?"

"True?" John responded in confusion.

"He said he was my little brother."

There was a beat of silence and Sam strained to hear more even though the two were just a few feet away.

"No Dean, that would take an immense amount of power to alter memories like that. I think he may just be lying, he's terrified and so far it looks like he doesn't have anybody."

"Why would he lie to be in our family?" Dean asked with a derisive snort.

There was another pause and John answered in a serious voice.

"He doesn't have anyone, Dean."

Dean didn't respond and the silence stretched on, interrupted only by the occasional shuffle of papers. Then

"We have food for you, kid. You can eat, and then we need to talk to you."

Sam blushed as he realized that his dad had noticed that he was awake. It seemed that despite John not remembering Sam as his son, he did remember how to tell when Sam was fake sleeping. Rolling over, Sam ducked his head, avoiding the gaze of Dean.

"Oh, okay."

John brought over a brown take out box that had shepherds pie from the local diner.

"Here, kid."

Sam looked at the food and shot his father a glum look.

"My name's Sam."

John's eyes lit with amusement and slight annoyance.

"Okay, Sam."

Sam glanced at his dad again before setting into the food, he hadn't realized before how hungry he was. John let him eat a little while before he began speaking.

"I need you to tell me as much about what happened as possible."

Sam stopped eating and set the spoon down, face paling as he recalled what had happened.

"He's a magoi."

John's brow raised. Sam shrugged.

"It's a Greek witch of sorts. They use divination."

John nodded and Sam found it interesting how his father listened better when he didn't know who Sam was then when Sam was his thirteen year old son.

"He said something about souls. Well, he said a lot about souls. How powerful they are. Things like that."

Sam began eating again.

"Where's your family?"

It was a blunt question and made Sam avert his eyes.

"I already told you, you're my family."

John let out a deep breath.

"Finish telling me about the rest of what happened."

Dean was sitting at the table, intent as he watched the question and answer session between Sam and John.

"I told you, you're my family. We came here looking for a monster that eviscerates people. You thought it was a pontianak and I thought it was a magoi. You didn't listen, so I tried to hunt it down myself. He tied me to the table and that's when you guys came in. He did this weird magic light thing which made you guys forget everything."

John nodded, not verbally disagreeing with Sam, but Sam could see in his eyes that John didn't believe everything Sam had said.

"I really am your son. Mary Winchester is my mother and she died November 2nd, 1983. I was six months old."

John's eyes did widen at that, but he remained calm, not saying anything but now fixing Sam with a piercing and contemplative stare. Dean, on the other hand, had gone white, eyes wide with shock.

"Dad, how did-"

"Dean," John cut Dean off with that short word and the tone of his voice.

"How do you know that?"

Sam glared angrily, no one was believing him. "I told you, I'm your son."

John's lips pursed and he gave a terse nod. Keeping his eyes on Sam, he motioned for Dean to follow him outside. Sam knew what his dad was going to do, because John had always convened with Dean away from Sam on certain topics and his dad always only moved a foot from the door. Sam was out of the bed once the door clicked shut and had his ear pressed to the door so he could hear their harried conversation. He was torn between frustration that his only family members didn't remember who he was and the urge to break down because he wasn't sure that this was something that could be fixed. If it couldn't be fixed, then they would try to get rid of him like just another victim on just another hunt. There was too much at stake.

"How does he know that, Dad!? He shouldn't know that!"

"I don't know exactly Dean, but I think he may be psychic. It would explain why the magoi called him special."

"How can a psychic know all that?"

"Some are more powerful than others. For now though we're going to keep him with us, he may be useful in taking down this magoi, and in the meantime it will give me some time to figure out what to do with him. I can try to get a last name, but I have a feeling he doesn't have anybody."

Sam knew that the conversation was coming to an end so he scrambled away from the door, missing Dean's response. Sam had a feeling that he wasn't going to convince his family of anything. Not when he hadn't been able to convince his dad the monster was a magoi even when his dad knew Sam was his son. For now, he needed to work with them to figure out what the magoi had done so that he could fix it. John and Dean stepped back in a few moments later, Dean looking stricken and John quite serious.

"We're going to need your help, Sam."

Sam nodded at his father's statement, committed to fixing this because he was terrified of what would happen if he didn't.


	3. Chapter 3

**Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Soul**

O'MalleytheAlleyCat

Chapter 3

* * *

Things were extremely awkward among the three. John tried to act as though nothing strange was going on while Dean kept watching Sam with curious and wary eyes. Sam, meanwhile, felt layer upon layer of frustration stacking up as the usually familiar movement of his family was stilted and foreign, and left Sam treated as a stranger in their home. He still felt awful, a headache constantly pounding at different levels of pain. Concussions tended to do that, and it never got better no matter how many times he received one.

"So Sam-" Dean started, looking at him the way he would a new, but intriguing, witness. "Where are you from?"

Sam's head hurt particularly bad at the moment. All three had been at the library, Sam having to pull up his previous research to show John since the man wouldn't take him for his word. Once the many websites had been pulled up, John had ordered Dean to get Sam something to eat. Currently, the two boys were sitting in the dingy light of the diner being assaulted by the overwhelming scent of grease from its kitchen.

"Lawrence, Kansas."

Dean's eyes lighted with surprise, along with some amusement and a slight bit of unease.

"So, you're a psychic?"

Sam glared, it was a full on bitch face. Dean's face didn't even twitch in recognition. There wasn't even that small smirk that Dean wore anytime he successfully annoyed Sam enough to pull out a bitch face.

"It's 'cause I'm your brother," Sam said, each syllable carefully stressed as though it would finally get through Dean's thick skull.

Dean chuckled, the amusement growing. If Sam had been older, not so young, he would've seen the serious interest growing in Dean, that spark of 'what if?'. Sam may not have been able to read Dean's more hidden emotions, but he was capable of seeing the nearly derisive disbelief.

The waitress walked up and set their orders in front of them.

"Hope you like burgers," Dean said as the waitress hurried off, a woman in her thirties and too exhausted by life to even give the two a second glance and quick smile.

Sam didn't say anything, choosing to glare at the french fries.

"I really am your brother."

Dean nodded, looking up briefly before continuing his assault on the burger in front of him. A few minutes passed as they both ate. Sam stopped suddenly, staring down at his half eaten burger. Dean kept eating, not really noticing, but when Sam looked up at him teary eyed he stopped.

"What's wrong kid?"

Sam looked like he was about to burst into tears.

"Do you really not remember me?"

Dean blinked, shocked by the overwhelming emotion coming from the boy.

Dean didn't respond.

Sam's face crumpled and he lowered his head. He mumbled something about using the bathroom and slipped from the seat. Dean watched him go, an unfamiliar sensation rolling in his gut.

Dean finished his burger, but Sam still wasn't back. Glancing around he mumbled something about weak stomachs, but his brow was creased with a worry that intensified for each minute that Sam didn't return. After a few minutes he rose, waving a hand at the waitress to indicate that he wasn't leaving the restaurant. The whole point of sending Dean off with Sam to the diner was for safety reasons. His father didn't trust Sam and didn't want him around while he was researching, psychic abilities and all that. If he lost the kid, his dad was going to be pissed. Walking over to the bathroom, he stepped in. There were five stalls, all of them open except one, which had a pair of sneakers showing at the bottom.

"Sam?"

There was a soft hiccuping, a stuttering breath and-

"Go away, Dean."

If Dean didn't know better, he would say it felt like he was dealing with a younger brother.

"Look kid, I don't like this anymore than you do, but you can't sit in the bathroom forever."

There was another loud sniffle. "I said go away, Dean!"

Dean felt frustration and some sort of unpleasant wrongness well up in him. Despite his father's claim, Dean felt as if he should know this kid. However, Dean didn't have much patience for some psychic kid who was claiming to be his brother. He pushed on the door, but the bolt was in place.

"Open up, kid."

There wasn't an answer. Dean let out an aggravated sigh. He stepped back and kicked the door in. It swung open violently to reveal the boy sitting on the toilet, crying.

Dean felt a part of him twinge in guilt and some deeper emotion. He hesitated. The kid's eyes were red and swollen from crying, large tear tracks showing down his face. He looked imploringly at Dean as if he was asking for the world. And for the first time in his life,

"C'mon kid," Dean started feeling absolutely helpless and staring cluelessly at Sam.

Dean did not give him the world.

Sam's face contorted, he scrubbed furiously at his eyes trying to suck up the pain in his chest and heart. His head was pounding now. This wasn't his Dean, this Dean had no recollection of tucking him into bed, of driving the Impala through snow, barefoot and in ragged pajamas, because Sam had a fever and needed medicine and dad wasn't home, he didn't remember throwing himself in the way of a wraith to save Sam and subsequently scaring the hell out of Sam and their father when he nearly died from blood loss. This Dean remembered nothing. Sam let out a sob at that thought, it was strange to realize how utterly dependent he was on the support his brother gave him.

Dean was a rock, between all his annoying pranks and teasing and the fact that Sam knew that no matter what, Dean loved him, little brother quirks and all, Sam depended on his brother. That was snatched away at the drop of a hat. He never knew how John felt about him, but Dean, that was solid, until now.

Sam had to be strong now and fix what this monster had done before he lost his family. Sucking in a deep breath Sam brushed at his tears once more and stood up. Dean backed away and Sam felt his composure slip, Dean had never stepped back when he was in pain.

"You feeling alright, kid?" Dean asked hesitantly.

"My name is Sam," Sam grit out, stepping out of the bathroom stall and pushing Dean to the side.

He obviously wasn't going to have Dean's help with this, not his Dean's help. Dean watched the boy storm off. They went back to the table and everything was extraordinarily awkward. The tears had been replaced with brooding. Luckily the waitress cared just as much as she had before, which wasn't at all. Dean felt unreasonably guilty, it was like he was supposed to do something, but he had no idea what. It was like muscle memory, except the muscle was non-existent. It was eating away at Dean. He tried to ignore it though and instead finished his shake in record time and was working on his fries. Sam was just picking at the food looking absolutely defeated.

"Hey, k-" Dean stopped, "Sam," he corrected himself.

Sam looked up at Dean with big, puppy dog eyes that made him look like a PETA commercial.

"I'm not saying I don't want to believe you, its just, I have a whole lot memories up here," Dean said, waving at his head with a fry, "but you're just not there and I can't help but be the kind of guy who goes with whats in his head. I mean, if you're really my brother, wouldn't I remember at least something?"

"It's 'cause the magoi took your memories, I-I don't know how, but he did, and you gotta believe me," Sam said, staring desperately at Dean.

Dean shook his head but he found that the imploring, desperate look on Sam's face was turning him and all his well learned lessons of obey dad into pixie dust that was flying out the window. If his dad was right and this kid had no one then that meant that there was someone out there with a shittier life than Dean and he was right across from him, begging for help.

"How old are you, Sam?" Dean asked.

Sam let out a huff of frustration.

"I'm thirteen," Sam replied mulishly.

Dean gave a nod. He wanted to ask more, he was kind of interested in this kid, and maybe, depending on how this hunt panned out his dad would consider taking in the kid. Knowing his dad though it was more likely he would drop Sam off with Bobby or Pastor Jim.

"Look, Sam, we'll try to help you, alright," Dean said.

"Then we should go back to the house, maybe however the magoi took your guys' memories we can figure out by looking at things," Sam said, a note of hysteria in his voice and looking way too excited.

"Sam, I don't know, I need to wait for what my dad decides to do, he's a good hunter," Dean said, not feeling like he could agree with this.

"Please! This could be the only way!" Sam said, staring at Dean beseechingly.

Dean felt his resolve breaking.

"Fine, we'll go, but we're only gonna check it out for a little bit then we meet up with my dad in the motel room, got it?"

Sam nodded eagerly and Dean paid the check, not sure if he was making the right decision.

* * *

They got into the Impala and headed toward the house, a place which was quickly becoming somewhere that Sam hated. When they pulled up, gravel crunching beneath the tires, Sam just sat in the car, not getting out. Dean looked at him with raised brows. Sam shook his head and opened the door. His whole life had been upended here.

As they stepped towards the house, a question came to mind.

"H-How did you know to come here?"

Dean turned to Sam with a frown of confusion.

"I mean, last night, when you saved me," Sam elaborated.

They climbed the creaking steps and Dean took point, gun being pulled from his pants.

"Dunno, my dad had probably done some research," Dean shrugged the discontinuity away.

Sam didn't say anything back, eyes growing wide as he looked around the entry way. Memories slid back and he felt his stomach begin to twist itself into knots. Dean stepped towards the kitchen and Sam felt hesitant as he followed. What if the magoi had come back? He felt like throwing up.

The dining room was empty and so was the kitchen. When it was obvious that nothing was there, Sam's timidity lessened.

"Well, it doesn't look like nothing's here," Dean said.

Sam was staring at the dining room table, remembering quite clearly where he'd been tied down at. His fingers circled his chafed wrists, still damaged from his struggles.

"Let's go," Dean ordered.

Sam's head snapped up. They couldn't go yet, Sam needed to find something, anything, to prove who he was.

"No, we-we still should look around, we might have missed something."

Dean put his gun back in his pants and looked slightly sympathetic.

"Look, nothings here, that witch dude cleared out fast, we're not gonna find anything."

Sam gave a small nod. They headed out of the house and started to walk towards the car when Sam halted and moved over to where they'd practiced shooting the day before.

"Sam?" Dean called out, impatient as the kid didn't answer.

"We we're practicing shooting yesterday," Sam said quietly.

Dean shook his head. Not this again.

"You don't remember, do you?" Sam asked, eyeing Dean.

Dean shook his head.

"I wasn't hitting the targets," Sam said, eyes moving to the row of broken glass and shot up cans, "and-and usually dad just get mads at me and he'll yell and I get worse, but you-you always calm me down and get it so I shoot straight."

Dean stared at the row of broken glass and it all felt so impossibly coincidental. Stepping past Sam he walked over and guessing the trajectory of the bullets and Sam's height traced their path. There was indeed bullets buried in the ground. Dean felt like he was holding his breath as he dug furiously at the ground with a penknife. The bullet was a .40 inch caliber bullet which would match perfectly with the gun Sam had used yesterday and a gun which he had vague memories of using. Pain spiked through his head and he slammed the heel of his palm against his forehead.

It passed but the niggling sense that something more was going on did not. Looking up, with the bullet fisted in his hand, Dean realized Sam had disappeared. Standing up he looked to the Impala but Sam wasn't there. Frowning, he headed into the house. Dean entered the dining room, Sam's fingers were outstretched and about to touch the table. The fingertips met the wood surface and there was a small flash of light and then Sam was on the ground convulsing.

Dean dropped to his knees, panic overcoming him as he tried to get his brother into the recovery position.

Sam's eyes were rolled back, his mouth slack and his head jerking. His whole body felt tense in Dean's hands, arms pulled up to his chest as his whole body seizured. Dean felt helpless, unable to do much but let it pass. After twenty seconds, Sam's body went limp. Dean cradled the body close to him, catching Sam's head so it didn't smack against the floor.

"Sam?" Dean hazarded, voice rough.

Things didn't add up outside, or from last night and Dean, well Dean was starting to think that Sam was who he was saying he was. And if this was his little brother, Dean would do anything to keep him safe.

"Sammy?

* * *

John felt like he was trying to gain a grip on air. There was so little to grasp in this hunt. A magoi? He'd never heard of such a thing and it sounded rare and impossible to stumble on. He thought about calling Bobby, but, they weren't exactly on speaking terms.

He should call Jim, ask him about this kid, or at least put his feelers out into the community to get an idea where the child came from. For some reason he felt like he should keep this kid to himself.

John was seated at the library, eyes combing over records which might give him a clue as to what to do here. Instinct said to just hunt the bastard down and kill him. But that kid. John let out a sigh and rubbed a hand over his face. A powerful psychic like that could help lead him to Mary's killer. It was a piece of hope that he desperately needed.

Pulling out his wallet he drew out a photo of him and his family. There was Mary, beautiful, just like he remembered. Then Dean? Or wait? The baby in Mary's arms was Dean, the little boy to the side with the green eyes and blonde hair was just a neighbor kid. John's gut churned and he tucked the photo back in. He didn't need evidence to make him crazy or wrong. He needed that psychic kid to help him find the yellow eyed demon, it was the best shot he'd seen in years, or since this whole crusade began.

* * *

Hazel eyes blinked open, glazed over and struggling to focus. Dean smiled in relief as those round hazels landed on him and tried to focus.

"Hey, buddy, how you doing?" Dean asked.

Sam opened his mouth to reply but he found that he was too exhausted to say anything. It felt like a part of him had been drained away.

"It's okay, you don't have to say anything," Dean reassured.

Sam felt himself carefully picked up and his head lolled against Dean's shoulder. He felt so exhausted.

"You know, I think I'm starting to believe you, alright? That crying and having a seizure convinced me. I've decided to believe you on the off chance that I do have you as a little brother. It sure sucks though, 'cause you're a heavy kid," Dean was rambling as he moved Sam towards the car.

"And it figures I'd get a whiny little bitch of a brother, y'know, with long froofy smelling hair and limbs long enough to rival a wendigo."

Sam felt like crying despite his barely present consciousness. He'd gotten Dean back, if not all the way, but at least just a bit.

"Jerk," he huffed out in a nearly inaudible voice.

Sam felt a hand ruffle his hair as he was laid out in the front seat. The Impala started up, the familiar purr comforting. As soon as they started driving Sam felt his consciousness slip away at the lullaby of wheels and steel.

* * *

Dean arrived back at the motel room in just a few minutes. Sam was out and Dean wasn't sure if that was a good thing, especially after what had just happened. Dean had spent the whole car ride pulling at his mind and trying to find his memories hiding away somewhere. He needed to remember, it felt important that he remember. Nothing was there, in fact it was so deceivingly blank that Dean could believe the theory that the magoi had stolen his memories.

He shook Sam's shoulder and was relieved when the kid opened his eyes. They were still not quite focused and Dean worried about brain damage. He didn't exactly know much about seizures. John had given him a rundown on what to do if they happened, but he hadn't really gone into the long term care.

"Do you think you could stand? Or walk?" Dean asked.

Sam gave a nod. With Dean's help, Sam made it into the motel room and onto the bed. Dean wanted to ask questions, but Sam was exhausted and looked like he was ready to fall asleep.

"My dad should be back pretty soon, I think you should talk to him then, we can figure this all out," Dean didn't exactly sound sure of himself, but that didn't seem to matter as Sam was already fast asleep.

Dean watched him, trying once again to find the memories that had been lost.

* * *

John had made headway, the magoi had to stay in the area. He was going to feed, or something like that, basically eat the kid's soul so that it would grant him immortality. There was a lot of gibberish about souls and their power, the only thing John could draw a parallel between was with the Shtriga stealing children's life force. The main difference was that a magoi was human and chose to do this. They were old things, and this one had probably come over on a boat from Greece. The time that the deaths started matched with a boat load of immigrants that entered the community.

The more John studied the research, the more he was starting to realize that he'd been a little hasty with his judgments.

Now though, well now the library was closing and John needed to get back to the motel room and see if Dean had figured out anything else about the boy, especially the boys powers.

It didn't take long to get back to the motel room.

When he entered the room he saw Dean stretched out on one of the beds, the kids was fast asleep in the other looking slightly ill.

"Dad," Dean was up in an instant.

"Dean," John was already looking towards the bed.

"He-uh-he had a seizure today, there was another flash of light," Dean's explanation didn't make any sense.

"What do you mean?" John asked.

"We went back to the house to see if maybe the magoi had returned, Sam touched the table and had a seizure."

John frowned in concern.

"But you're okay?" He asked.

Dean gave a nod.

"Alright, well, did you learn anything about the boy's powers?"

John watched his son's face flash through a series of emotions that did not bode well for him.

"Dad," Dean started, "I think he's who he says he is."

John's lips tightened and his jaw ticked. He stared his son in the eye and realized that Dean truly believed that. The picture in his wallet, the baby with the hazel eyes. That wasn't Dean, but, John needed a psychic.

"Wake him up, I have a few questions," John commanded.

Dean didn't move.

"He had a seizure dad, after a concussion and God knows what the magoi did, he needs to rest. We can ask questions later."

John wasn't used to Dean back talking. He considered fighting Dean on it, then his eyes were drawn to the bed. The boy was pale, breathing heavy and unhealthy. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow and John could see that the boy did indeed not feel well. He felt a swell of compassion. The questions could wait, the only innocent now threatened by the magoi was the boy.

"Alright," John replied.

Dean's brows raised in surprise, as if he had expected a fight.

"We'll ask the questions after the kid's gotten some rest."

Dean gave a nod and settled on the bed next to Sam, fingers unintentionally reaching out to pet the boy's hair back. John watched the act with concern. Dean wasn't a really affectionate person. Things just seemed weird, off, something was missing. John shook his head, looking to the many notes he'd taken.

"So, how do we track the magoi?" Dean asked.

"Well, at some point it's going to come for Sam, it needs to finish the ritual so it can take his soul to gain another shot of immortality."

"You mean it's going to come after Sam?" Dean's voice sounded scared, angry.

John looked up from the notes to see his son posed protectively over the boy.

"Yes, Dean, and we'll be ready for it," John snapped back, not appreciating the tone.

Dean grew quiet and silence set in. John for his matter couldn't stop thinking of the little dimple cheeked child in the picture and of the cloying idea that he could be close to catching Mary's killer.

A small cry of pain had him looking over at the bed. Dean was prodding at Sam, fear in his eyes. Sam was tossing on the bed. There was a scream and John was on his feet in an instance. Sam began thrashing around screaming at the top of his lungs. Dean was trying to carefully keep Sam from falling off the bed, but John knew that if someone heard the screaming they would be dealing with a whole situation they didn't need to be.

John placed a hand over Sam's mouth, muting the screams. Dean was immediately trying to pry his hands away.

"Stop! You'll hurt him!" Dean yelled, while Sam bucked under John's hands.

"Dean! We need him to shut up!" John barked back.

Dean didn't back down and Sam became even more agitated, body writhing and tears streaming from his eyes.

"Dad! Let me! I can calm him down!"

John didn't let up, not willing to risk it, especially as Sam wasn't calming down.

The lights flickered ominously and wind whipped through the room. John eased just a bit, worried that maybe the magoi was near. Dean shoved him hard and because of his diverted attention he released his hold on Sam and nearly tumbled from the bed. Dean dived down, grabbing Sam and pulling him close. Sam's screams died to heaving sobs.

"Sam, Sammy, c'mon buddy, you're alright," Dean comforted, stroking Sam's hair.

John stood up, but didn't interfere as Dean's method was indeed calming the boy down.

"Dean! Dean!" Sam opened his eyes and clutched at Dean's shirt.

"Yeah Sammy? I'm here, it's fine," Dean said trying to get Sam to calm down a little more.

"He's coming Dean, he's coming," Sam sobbed out.

The words were punctuated by a chill wind sweeping through the room and all the lights flicking off.


End file.
